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I am a huge hypocrite.

Daily a friend or loved one will message me about the problems going on in their life. I always sit and listen and give advice when needed. Sometimes they just need me to be silent and others they need my anger. Sometimes my tears or enough and others they just need my love. I hear all these stories and yet I am afraid to tell my own.

I am not a liar in a way people would think it. I do not really know I am lying till I am doing it. It isn’t big lies really but small ones. I can never give a straight answer to basic questions.

If asked how I am, I will always say “I’m ok”

If asked how my day was, I will always say

“It was fine, could have been better, but still fine”

I am afraid to show my true self.

I guess cause I don’t want to burden them with my problems. Or maybe it is cause in the past I was always ignored in favor of their problems. I am not sure.

What makes me a hypocrite though is the fact that I can not take my own advice. I ask them to come to me with anything but do not do the same to them. I give them all my emotion but refuse to express it till it is to late. I hurt and hide but get mad when they do the same. I am the biggest hypocrite yet I do not see myself changing any time soon.

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I can see her

I can see her body floating as I close my eyes. I can see her hurting in every way imaginable as I stand by unable to do a thing. Sometimes I am dying and sometimes I am not. Either way I am always out of reach. I put my hand towards her, grasping, for just a touch. But I never make it, not in time anyways. I watch the light fade from her eyes. I watch as her beautiful smile twist into a look of pain.

This is my everyday nightmare.

As I close my eyes I see her dying. I see her suffering in unimaginable ways. I can’t do anything but watch. Either dead or alive I am always reaching for her.

This is my everyday. When I try to talk to people about it they just call me paranoid or don’t understand.

I can’t sleep unless she is beside me but there are days when that makes it worse. I take every pill the doctor gives me. Say my prayers before bed. Yet nothing is working.

I can see her hurting and I can’t make it stop.

Every day my daughter dies and I know it is all my fault.

D is for Destined

I am having a bad time keeping up with this this year. Maybe I am destined to fail. I have to try my best but I feel as though it isn’t good enough. Maybe it is because I am trying to write about something that is still so fresh in my heart. I have lost so much these past few years. I want go say goodbye but I don’t feel as though I am strong enough.

C is for Cure

Decribe what makes you whole and I will do my best to destroy it.

-Words Said to a Lovers Captive.

I know what it is like to bleed. I know what it is like to crave the pain. I don’t know what it is like when it is the only thing keeping you sane.

My head hurt so bad right now. It feels as though something is crawling in my skull. Ripping me apart from the insides and pushing itself behind my eye balls. I can feel it’s slow decent into my organs. Slowly devouring me and yet I still breathe. It is so very painful and seems never ending. I am not really sure when this feeling started. I don’t remember a time when it wasn’t there.

I want it to stop but…I am not even sure if I will know how to love without it.

B is for Blush

I am not sure how old I was when I loat my first friend. I know I was fairly young and the idea of death wasn’t really big. I knew people died but it didn’t really mean much. Death was final and yet not final at the same time. This may have been because I went to my first funeral when I was around two years old.

I remember the casket clearly. Or as clear as a possible two year old can. It was white…maybe pink. So very very tiny. It held the body of a young girl who had died in her sleep. She seemed big to me though I have been told that the girl was around my age.

Her casket was tiny but she appeared so big.

I remember dancing and playing in the aisles as people cried. There was so much crying going on. I didn’t know this girl…it wasn’t until I was older that I realized I never would.

As I aged I went to a lot of funerals. Never again a child and nearly always males. The female line of my family tends to live forever it seems. I only have one grandfather who is still alive. I have lost many uncles and great uncles and great great uncles. And make cousins…yes…I have lost plenty of those as well.

But

That casket.

That tiny casket with the not so tiny girl. She has always stuck in my mind.

I am not sure if I was related to her. My mother doesn’t like to talk about her much since she was born the same year as my older sister. I think maybe even just hours apart and at the same hospital. I think it makes my mom feel guilty that her child lived while the other ladies child did not.

I am not sure though. I have only met the mother once. I remember the hungry look in her eyes every time she glanced at my sister.

As a kid I figred she was some creepy lady. As in adult I understand. I understand her looks and shaking hands as she patted my sisters face. I understand why she ignored me. I understand why her and my mother walked on egg shells when they spoke. I understand it all to well.

See while I have never lost a child I lost a friend at a very young age. I have lost siblings. I have seen friends cry after they spoke of the children they had lost.

I have seen blushing brides with a baby bump turn to tear stained widows with scars.

I have seen it all and more.

So, while I have never lost a child, I can still grieve with them. I can hold them close and understand. Maybe not fully but enough to be there when needed

How to fail

Easy

Just give it.

I know! Simple right.

Wrong!

It is actually really difficult to give up. Even as one is preparing to give up there is always something telling them to fight on. Sure we can attempt to ignore this…voice(?) But that is really hard. Some people in this world actually have to fight to give up.

Sure we can make example after example of people who clearly gave up but will we really?

Do you know how long it took that people to say that they had enough?

And

Sure we have those who never even tried in the first place, but can we honestly say that? Can you really say that at no point in their lives did they try to do or be better. And by better I do not always mean your definition of better. Sometimes it can mean theirs. Because there are people who the world who believe they are doing good but the rest of us are silently shaming them. In their minds they are trying just not in the way we want them to.

So how does one fail?

And in whose eyes are they really failing?

My wants

I need to be hated. It is easier to bear. Being loved means disappointment. It means hurting others for the sake of hurting them. It means being left behind when they grow to old or two tired. It means having others give up on you when you rather they stay near.

No

I would rather be hated.

I would rather feel that dark pain then know what love feels like. I can’t take the purity of that feeling. I can’t stand living with the what if.

I rather be hated and know what will happen.

Instead of being loved and constantly guessing.